


A Mother's Love & Grief

by linnyninny



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, DSMP spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Reader sees Wilbur and Tommy as her own children, She loves them so fiercely, proud mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29020266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linnyninny/pseuds/linnyninny
Summary: Wars were never fun, and you hated them. Especially when they involved the sons of your friend.
Relationships: Philza/Reader, SurrogateMom!Reader/SurrogateSon!Wilbur
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	A Mother's Love & Grief

You had always been there, lingering the edges and watching. Carefully watching as Wilbur and Tommy got up to their shenanigans. It was the least you could do for Philza. Watching his boys was easy, originally. It had started out simple, even as they raised the walls of L'Manberg. You were proud of them then, even as they fought for their independence. You had felt a fierce pride on how they had grown, regardless of their reasons.

The pain you had felt the day of the first revolution matched your pride. It had hurt seeing them get hurt the way they had, but you were powerless to stop them. There was a leverage over you because of them that you couldn't risk actively picking sides. So you watched, though you made sure to tell them you were proud of them once it all ended. You even promised Wilbur to tell Philza what a good job the two of them had to done. He had always wanted the approval of his father, and creating a country for freedom surely was a reason to be proud.

As L'Manberg grew, you settled within the walls, celebrating happily with the boys as they did. It was with pride you had watched the election, rooting for them to win. It was what they clearly wanted. The pride could only turn to horror as they were exiled, though. You had frantically shoved Tommy away, acutely aware of how dire it was that he get out safe. You had sacrificed yourself that night, an arrow through the neck draining you. A shot meant for Tommy. You couldn't do the same for Wilbur, helplessly watching as he was shot down by Punz. You couldn’t even cry out for him when you had seen the shot coming.

Everything had changed that day. You had carefully snuck off to their exile, forcing Technoblade to promise to watch them and take care of them. They were Philza’s boys, and he at least owed his friend that. You kept to Manberg then, sneaking out periodically to offer up information when you could. It wasn't until just before the festival when Tommy had come to you, desperate for help.

"It's Wilbur! He's gone- He's gone mad! He wants to blow up L'Manberg, he thinks it'll fix it. You have to tell him, tell him it's wrong. He won't listen to me. Please," The youngest had begged you, and you had relented without a second thought. Wilbur looked mad when you had walked into Pogtopia, his hair a mess. You hadn't seen him since the banishment.

"Wilbur…" You murmured cautiously, causing him to spin towards you.

"Did Tommy tell you? What do you think?" He asked, a grin on his face. An unstable grin. You needed to proceed cautiously, and you knew that.

"I think… it's impressive, but surely there's another way, isn't there?" 

"If there's no L'Manberg to rule, wouldn't that be better? No more Schlatt, no more presidency, no more Dream breathing down our necks. Its perfect!" He seemed eager, and it made your heart pang.

"If there's no L'Manberg, you, me, Tommy and Tubbo all lost lives for nothing. Tommy would have given up his discs for nothing. Were all of the sacrifices pointless?" You kept your voice level, trying not to be cynical towards him. One thing could set him off.

"You died for Tommy! I'm proud of him for his growth but L'Manberg has only caused problems. Wouldn’t Phil be proud?" The words had stunned you then.

"Would Phil be  _ proud? _ You're planning to blow up an entire country because you rightfully lost, Wilbur! Why would he be  _ proud? _ " You had gestured around the pair of you, words clearly upsetting the brunette.

"Because I'm doing what's  _ right _ ! Who gives a damn if it makes me the bad guy?" Wilbur flung his hands up, scowling at you.

"You can solve this without blowing up a country, without being a terrorist! You aren't doing the right thing!" You had been fed up and frustrated, deeming to Tommy that there was clearly no reasoning with Wilbur. He was beyond that point. You could see it in his eyes.

The festival had caused more pain. It seemed like that's all it had brought. Tubbo died at the hands of Technoblade that day, the shot only spurring you more. What the  _ hell  _ had this country done? When the war came you kept to yourself. The second revolution was rough, but you truly wanted no part of it. It was for a country you were having your doubts for, but at least it was in tact. You may not care much for it, but the others did so you didn't care.

It was only when the victory cheers rallied that you cared to look, smiling almost fondly at the boys as they gave their speeches. It was messy and unpolished, but their pride and joy was immeasurable. They had succeeded in something they cared about for the second time.

Peace never seemed to stay with L'Manberg though. No sooner than victory was declared, fighting broke out again. You cried out as Techno fired at your boys, doing everything you could to protect it. That's when you heard it, the hissing of bombs. You hardly had time to react, watching as the ground beneath everyone shattered, erupting into a rain of wood and Earth. It was chaos, and you frantically searched for Wilbur. You didn't care that he had done this- please just let him be okay.

He was stood in a cave across one of the craters. With Philza. The man looked torn, and you could only stand and watch. It felt like slow motion as Wilbur shoved the sword into his father's hands. Philza’s wings flexed, frustrated as he yelled. You couldn't make out the words, everything ringing around you from the explosion. The sword was pointed towards Wilbur’s chest, the tip threatening to impale him. And then it did, and you weren’t sure if Wilbur had pushed himself onto it or if Philza had done it himself.

You were vaguely aware of the screaming. Your own screaming, to be exact, as tears streamed down your face. Wilbur was gone. The last life he had, taken in the name of a country that had done him wrong. You don't remember who moved you from the chaos of the battle. It became a blur in your shock and grief.

Days had passed and you sat in a house that had been built for you. You believed Tubbo had built it, simply saying that you deserved it. The grief had shocked you numb, the moments replaying through your head every time your eyes closed. Philza eventually visited, the visitations often quiet. Much of the time was spent with him making sure you were taken care of. As time passed, you opened up more, you recovered. The wound sort of healed. Enough for you to speak to Philza of his sons and what they had gotten up to in his absence.

As you recounted stories, you often found yourself pressed to his side, a dark wing draped around you. Sometimes he even managed to get you out of the house, walking around the lake they'd put in the explosion craters. Sometimes you would stare down at the water, watching the fish dance beneath the surface. Like they'd always belonged there.

It was all fine, until the day you met Ghostbur. The ghost had floated in behind Philza one day, chatting happily in a voice that only seemed reminiscent of Wilbur. He had introduced himself, recounting a few memories. That Wilbur had always cared deeply for you, and that he knew you had always done the same and looked out for him. He only seemed to remember the fond memories, and part of it hurt. He was Wilbur. Yet he wasn't. An echo of the boy you watched grow.

It had been silent as you sat there, even after Ghostbur left. Philza didn't follow, simply settling beside you. A wing wrapped around you, safely tucking you into his side. The sun was setting when he finally broke the silence. "I know," he mumbled quietly. As if anything louder would have been too much. "I miss him too."

"Everyday?" You whispered, voice thick with sadness. You looked up to him, desperate for reassurance. That this was normal, that you weren't alone.

"Everyday. It's hard. I always wonder if I could have stopped him." He stared wistfully out the window, and you released a shuddering breath.

"I do too. I tried. Not hard enough. Maybe I should have stopped him from even creating L'Manberg. All that it has brought is pain. So many people died for it. Our boys-" You choked as you spoke, the words spilling out with no restraint. "We lost him.  _ I  _ lost him. I loved him, Phil. He was like my own son, and watching him die-"

It was the first time you broke. The first time you spilled and acknowledged everything like this. Phil had shifted, moving to tug you into his lap. To hold you tight, both wings cocooning you there. You clung to him without a second thought, face burying into his neck as you sobbed.

"Everytime I close my eyes I see it- his body just- it hurts, and I couldn't stop it. I couldn’t save him, I couldn't save my boy," Your voice raised with your hysteria, and Phil rubbed your back.

"It isn't your fault. I don't know if either of us could have saved him. It's okay to grieve him, but don't let it eat you alive." His cheek rested against your head, and you hiccuped softly. He held onto you tight, the moment feeling horribly somber. You had finally broken after months of barely living.

"Ghostbur isn't the same. He's not our Wilbur," you whispered after your crying had slowed.

"No, he's not. He tries, though. He's got the best intentions with what he can remember. He wanted to see you right away but we wouldn't let him. He said Wilbur always thought of you as a mother." His voice was soft. Tender. You took a shaking breath, sitting up some more so you could look at Phil.

"How much does he remember?" You questioned, leaning into the hand that came to cup your cheek. Your eyelids fluttered shut as he wiped at the tear tracks with his thumb, trying to make sure you were okay.

"The trauma is gone, for the most part. He seems to only remember the good." He explained, and you nodded. You were somewhat glad for that. You weren't sure you could handle it if he remembered every detail of his demise.

"Was I a good mother?" Your voice was meek as you questioned Phil, reaching up to cradle his hand. His gaze softened at the action, moving to hold your hand instead.

"Given the circumstances, I'd say you weren’t bad. You tried your best to protect them. Tommy told me about the exile. That there is enough to rule you a decent mother." He ran one of his knuckles against the scar on your neck.

"I didn't even think about it when I did it," You leaned forward, settling your head on his shoulder.

"You don't need to, as a parent. It's instinct. Just remember the other two are still alive, I think they could use you." You nodded, closing your eyes. "Try and actually talk to Ghostbur soon, too. It'd make him happy." You only nodded again, the emotional exhaustion wearing on you. Phil pressed a ghost of a kiss to your temple, before settling his head atop yours. You weren't sure when you lost consciousness, only aware of the warmth and closure in your heart.


End file.
